


Double Impact

by CalmSpirited



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, and cats, and some of the Others:tm:, bye dont follow me, fanservice to dmod again cuz i love the mans, this..... i dont know what this is dont ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalmSpirited/pseuds/CalmSpirited
Summary: Hurricane Michael comes through... and so does the actual Michael Myers.(based off the many headcanons anervousleader's dmod has for Dwight and heck its gay smooch)





	Double Impact

**Author's Note:**

> I know of the real Hurricane Michael ofc and my hearts go out to all those affected by it, myself having a horrendous experience with Hurricane Florence and Michael both, this is a way has been... slightly therapuetic? Idk but this is all in lightheartedness y'all know the deal. Have fun and bust a nut reading this owo and plus when I saw the name of the hurricane I had this horrible idea

_ “... though, the most severe impacts will be felt on the barrier islands of Galveston, Hurricane Michael’s eyewall will remain intact and persist inland long enough to cause significant impacts to cities and areas for up to as much as 100 miles inland before it encounters more elevated terrain and begins slowly weakening. With winds of 145 mph, Hurricane Michael is considered a major hurricane and will expected to make landfall within the next couple of hours at or just below it’s current intensity. Please stay tuned to the WeatherChannel or your local weather broadcasts for more information, and heed any evacuation warnings for your area-” _

 

“If only I had money to!” Quipping sarcastically, Dwight Fairfield plopped down on his thrift store sofa, gathering up one of his many cats that he had  _ adopted  _ when they wouldn’t stop scraping at his apartment door over the months since his escape from  _ that place- _

 

Shaking the bad memories away, Dwight flipped the channel to something less  _ catastrophic _ \- but that wasn’t easy,  _ understandably so _ , but listening to all of that on repeat for the rest of the night would give him even more  _ anxiety  _ than necessary. 

He settled for the Food Network after grabbing a bowl of chips from his pantry, along with a few treats for his cats so they wouldn’t be meowing at him incessantly while he snacked.

 

_ My first hurricane since I’ve come back,  _ he mused, squashing down the  _ bitter taste  _ in his mouth that accompanied the  _ implication  _ of Hell with his glass of water and a few chips. Even though he was the laughing stock of the town,  _ or at least felt like it sometimes,  _ he loved his hometown of Santa Fe so much that even after everything that had happened, he couldn’t find it within himself to leave it just yet.  _ Besides _ , he wasn’t going to bother the other ex- Survivors that he had gotten in touch with, even though Jake had  _ literally  _ threw money at him and told him to  _ settle down somewhere nice _ .

 

He had been slightly angered at first because he had assumed that the Asian had thrown singles at him like he was a thirsty stripper- until he had noticed  _ the double zeros behind the ones. _ The money had gotten him an apartment  _ (subsidized, but beggars couldn’t be choosers) _ , clothes, food and  _ plenty  _ of money to save for a rainy day like this one, where he didn’t have to worry about missing work and not making enough money this paystub to cover the bills.

 

Hell, it was even enough money to book a plane ticket to Manchester to go and hang out with David for a weekend. Dwight offered  _ just where  _ Jake, their beloved forest hobo friend, but he didn’t dare ask Jake for fear of seeming noisy- and plus, he didn’t need answers when he just happened to turn on the TV one day and see one Jake Park mixed in with a bunch of suits and ties at some sort of political rally-  _ a presidential campaign political rally _ .

 

Apparently, Jake had more ties to Mother Nature than he thought- money grew on trees in the Park family.

 

_ “Running in the 90s-” _

 

“David!” The pizza deliverer could recognize the voice of the scrapper from _anywhere-_ he was just one of those people who had a voice you could identify for miles around, he was so loud and boisterous and _accented_ _(not to mention good looking- there wasn’t anything solid between them yet, but that farewell kiss at the airport when Dwight came back home lingered all the way home)._ “I’m surprised you can actually reach me- power’s already starting to flicker.”

 

“Nothin’ gonna stop me from callin’ my favorite little man ‘n America.”

 

“I thought that was Jake.” If the woodsman had heard him call him that, Dwight is  _ sure  _ he would’ve had his ass handed to him: Jake may have been the smallest male Survivor, but he was certainly the toughest. “But, really, why are you calling? I told you I’m fine; I’ve been through hurricanes before-”

 

“But not all o’ those storms call fer all those evacuations, Dwighty- and don’t say ye didn’ have the money to! Nah, I know why ye stayed- those bloody cats!”

 

“Oh, David.” Dwight giggled, before sneaking a chip inbetween his lips and trying to conceal the crunchy sounds they made from his conversation partner. “You’d love ‘em if you met ‘em.” 

 

“They’ll claw ye to death! They trick ya, warm up and cuddly with ye, them scratch ye all to hell in yer sleep and them kill ya with their cuteness as soon as ye pop yer eyes open!”

 

“So, you admit they are cute, David?”

 

“Fockin’ right, they are! That’s why they’re so dangerous! Little shitebags.”

 

“Hey! They’re right here you know.” Holding his phone inbetween his shoulder and his cheek, he picked up the current cat in his lap and pressed a very loud and ostentatious kiss to its head so that David could hear him. “David didn’t mean it, did ya?”

 

“Yes I did!” And, as if insulted, the cat swatted angrily at the voice over the phone, hitting the receiver on it. “Oi? Lil’ fleabag? Ya wanna fockin’ go, mate?! I’ll take ya o’er the phone!”

 

“David! Quit stirring up the cats! There gonna be in here for a while, so I need to keep them calm.”

 

“Wha- oh, right, sorry love- are ya keepin’ em inside during the storm?”

 

The  _ love  _ endearment made Dwight’s stomach leap, and he’s grateful he’s not in a videocall with him or he would’ve seen how hard he blushed. “I had to bring everything inside. I didn’t want them blowing away.”

 

“Souds like yer’ runnin’ an animal shelter.”

 

“No, that would be Jake. Or Claudette.”

 

“Ye would think those two be’d living together by now. Didn’t I hear properly that they were thinkin’ about gettin’ up together?”

 

“I think they said after they both finished up college. Or maybe that was Meg-”

 

“Nah, wait, wait- I thought Meg said she was moving south-”

 

“No, _that_ was Jake. He told me himself just the other day that he was a bit tired of the woods and the damp cold of Virginia- may surprise you, but Jake said _himself_ that he was ready to _try_ _civilization_ again. I think he’s doing it just so Claudette will be more tempted to visit him if he has Wi-fi, but I can tell he’s really considering it.”

 

Dwight was  _ gifted _ with the sound of David’s rancorous laughter bouncing off his ears. “Jake’s movin’ to the south? He can finally be that cowboy an’ saddle up with Kate!”

 

And on it went for well on an hour, Dwight and David talking and,  _ mostly,  _ gossiping about the lives of their fellow ex- Campers, avoiding talking about anything too sad or traumatic for Dwight’s sake since it was well known between the both of them that Dwight had suffered far longer than the ex-rugby player had, and the pale man didn’t need anymore anxiety than he already had- he would gnaw off his own fingers bloody if it got that bad.

 

But, eventually, Dwight heard the winds outside pick up, a gust of wind making the light flicker for a brief moments and the TV froze mid- cooking competition, and David’s manly voice faltered for a few seconds, cutting off his latest victory at his local pub. Dwight interrupted him, as much as he wanted to continue listening to him  _ all night.  _ “Sorry, David, but I think the signal’s starting to go cause the wind is picking up. I’d rather hang up than get cut off, ya know?”

 

“Ah, no, I understand, love.”  _ There it was again _ , Dwight’s heart soared. “Ya be safe, ya hear? Don’t be like those dumb blokes who have a ‘urricane party and have to be rescued. Min sent me one clip o’ it and I nearly shat meself laughing at how dumb they looked. An’ that one clip about tha’ dog Coco Bean-”

 

“Yes, alright, alright! I promise I’ll practice extreme safety. My cats will protect me.”

 

“Th’se little fockers… ‘right, well, take care Dwighty. Call me when you can, ‘kay?”

 

“If I still have power in a couple of hours, I’ll call again, yeah!”  _ God, Dwight, why are you acting like such a lovestruck teenager? _ His face was red as a tomato and he felt positively breathless. “Bye, David!”

 

“Bye, love. Don’t let em cats get ya!”  _ Click!  _ Sighing in lovers bliss, Dwight hung up the phone and placed it back down on the table, getting comfortable in his pile of blankets and cats while munching on his bowl of chips, mindlessly watching the Food Network while daydreaming about David, about his trip to Manchester with him and planning a second trip with the man who’d he love to kiss again.

 

Dwight’s not sure how long he dozed off for, but when he next awoke, the cats were crawling all over him and eating his chips, the power was out and the wind was  _ howling.  _ But… he’s almost  _ certain  _ a loud noise woke him up, and since he can’t remember having some sort of nightmare or dream that would recreate that noise, Dwight assumes after sitting upright from his slumped sleeping position, that it must’ve been the loud sound of the transformer blowing or the power going out.

 

Picking up his phone in the dark light of no electricity and the natural evening light, he found that his phone read just a few minutes after seven, and still had nearly a full charge on his phone, so at least he could fumble around in the dark for his flashlights he had stashed all around. Banging his foot on his coffee table, he hobbled around until his nail bitten fingers  _ (he was trying to kick the habit) _ wrapped around the base of the lantern and flicked it on, the bright LED light immediately flooding the living room.

 

The first thing he saw when the room was illuminated was the spooky shadows that it created, and he immediately turned the light back off, overcome with an intense wave of  _ memories, shadows dancing along the walls as he hid in silent fear, one of his friends screams echoing painfully against his eardrum as they met their fate on a rusty hook, and then sudden, extremely heavy breathing against his neck as the Red Stain flooded over him, eyes slamming shut as his body braced for intense pain- _

 

A brushing sensation against his leg made Dwight jump and scream, nearly knocking over his TV when he staggered against the entertainment center it was in, clutching his chest as his heart raced and pounded against his breastbone and his knees struggled to hold up his weight, it took all of Dwight’s mental willpower to not slump to the floor in a panic attack.

 

He braved his eyes to crack open to see what had rubbed against his leg, and discovered that it was only one of his cats, apparently coming to comfort him  _ even though it nearly gave him a heart attack.  _ Taking a calming breath in a feeble attempt to slow his breathing, he bent over cautiously to scratch the top of his cat’s head, the adopted pet purring in contentment at the attention received, and Dwight found himself relaxing at the sound, shoulders drooping from their tensed position as he knelt on one knee and picked up the fluffy cat, cradling it to his chest as he continued to rub behind its ears.

 

“You nearly kill me, then you comfort me.” The pale man mutters his complaint into the warm fur of his pet while carrying him back to the sofa, wrapping them both back up into the blankets and pillows before sliding to his side to fetch his phone, turning down the brightness on his device just enough so the bright light of the background didn’t completely eviscerate his eyeballs, and pulled up Candy Crush to pass some time. The sound of the game bringing him a slight bit of comfort, the background noise doing his anxiety wonders in distracting itself from his own mental terror- plus, he kept having to move his phone out of harm’s way when his lap buddy kept swiping at the candy on the screen, chucking and lovingly reprimanding the cat when he did so.

 

Times and levels passed, and Dwight internally celebrated his victories even though he had depleted all of his lives  _ (and couldn’t access the store to buy anything useful) _ , so he decided to put the phone down and give it some rest along with his eyes, especially after seeing the battery dip below 90% and the time now just approaching half after eight.

 

Closing his eyes, Dwight was unaware that he had fallen asleep again until he re-opened his eyes when the sensation of his cat pillow leaping off his lap and scratching at his door woke him up. Grumbling half- awake nothings, Dwight wrapped the blanket around body and shuffled to where his cat was slinking back and forth infront of the doorway, meowing lightly.  _ Odd _ , Dwight thinks,  _ he only does that when there’s someone outside. _ But, there couldn’t  _ possibly  _ be anyone outside at  _ this  _ time, especially with Hurricane Michael set to make landfall with a couple of hours, right?

 

He didn’t hear anybody knock, but what if someone needed help?  _ But it could be a trick!  _ His traitorous mind warned him.  _ It could be a Killer, come back to finish you off! _

 

_ … But what if someone needs me? _

 

Humming to himself, Dwight decides to take the risk and open the door with the chain on it, incase it was any ne'er do wells or hooligans knocking at his door looking for trouble  _ (there was no way it could be the Killers, silly brain!).  _ Poking his fuzzy head through the opening while holding on tightly to the door, he poked a quick look out through the screen door, seeing nothing but heavy rain bands and bits of debris and shingles blow around everywhere.  _ Oh right, major hurricane.  _

 

Then he thought:  _ I should have just looked through the window!  _ Followed by:  _ oh wait shit, the landlord boarded them up, that’s right. _

 

Closing the door when he saw no signs of anybody around, Dwight gripped the blanket around his tighter, slinging the dangling end over his shoulder as he mentally berated himself for having a  _ massive  _ brain fart over the entire door debacle, and made his way back to the sofa in the dim blue light that the sun created through the heavy storm clouds,  _ reminding him of the MacMilian estates- _

 

The ex-survivor lets himself fall back on the sofa while beating back the PTSD with a mental stick, his pet escaping his grasp and going right back to scratching at the door, but Dwight was too busy repressing dark and dangerous memories from resurfacing to pay attention to his cat’s action.

 

_ If he had noticed, he would’ve been far more worried because the absolute only time that his cat does that is when someone is right outside his door. _

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I escaped!” Lowly muttering encouragement to himself, Dwight rocked softly back and forth unconsciously as he bit his nails, blinking rapidly to get himself under control while taking deep breaths. “The Killers aren’t here, they got stuck in there, they couldn’t get out! Besides, what Killer would come through a major hurricane to come and kill me? Haha, just overreacting, as always, like David said, I need to start getting used to everything again  _ and who the hell is breathing behind me _ -” Too caught up in the racing beat of his anxiety, Dwight was openly speaking what was coming to his mind, even when he  _ heard  _ very audible breathing behind him.

 

Tilting his head to the side in a very sassy matter, he hopped in his seat to turn around to see what the noise was behind him, and completely  _ froze  _ with the sight he was greeted with, color draining from his face and gasping loudly, nail-bitten hand dropping from his mouth.

 

There was a slightly dirty-looking Michael Myers, the killer he had known as the Shape,  _ literally  _ dripping wet onto his hardwood floor and holding his wet and glistening knife loosely in his dominant hand, decked out as he usually was, save for a few small cuts littering various parts of his workman overalls, mostly his arms where a nail was imbedded into his right arm, a small trickle of blood running down his sleeve and staining his clothes dark red.

 

Dwight’s brain short-circuited as it tried to catch up with the fact that  _ yes, there was a Killer in his house that he so vehemently tried to convince himself that the Killers were unable to hurt him _ , but when  _ it did _ , Dwight screamed bloody murder, body flailing and rolling off the sofa in  _ pure panic _ , wrapping himself up in his blanket on the floor as the pizza man fought an enemy that hadn’t moved from his stock still position from behind his sofa.

 

Head finally breaking through the suffocating fabric, Dwight inhaled sharply like he had just resurfaced from a dive into the pool, glasses askew and clothes disheveled as he wildly turned his head back and forth, trying to find and run away from the danger half-blind. “Wha- what! Where is-  _ oh my God, Myers!”  _ Fear-babbling, the terrified male frenziedly crawled around on all fours, breaking free from the hold of his blanket and scrambling to his feet against the entertainment center, grabbing a nearby vase on a shelf to protect himself from the knife- wielding murder.

 

“STAY AWAY! GO AWAY!”  _ Please, please, let someone hear me-  _ but there was noone to hear him, since just about everyone else in his apartment complex had evacuated for the hurricane, except for deaf old Mrs. Sernanchez, who wouldn’t hear a bomb go off ten feet away from her.  _ She only lived a couple of doors down, so he could probably make it to her if he ran… but would he give up the poor old lady? No, he, unfortunately, wasn’t that person. _

 

The Shape didn’t budge an inch when Dwight commanded that he leave, and in fact, walked around the sofa to stand beside where he had just been sitting, knife still loosely clasped in his large hand, now dripping with the blood from the nail embedded in his arm, and upon further inspection, Dwight could clearly see what appeared to be part of a metal roof sticking out of his thigh, right above his knee, and that it was actually causing the unstoppable monster to  _ limp. _

 

Seeing the Shape injured gave Dwight just enough of a confidence boost to call out again, the realization dawning on him that Myers was acting like a  _ wounded animal _ , and if Dwight’s learned anything about wounded animals from that one night he spent on an impromptu camping trip with Jake, they won’t fight unless cornered, and Dwight hardly thinks that a small man like him could corner the giant that Myers was. “You… you- go away! Go to someone else’s house! GET OUT, YOU MURDER!”  _ Oh,  _ he wanted so badly to throw the vase at one of the many sources of his trauma, but jake’s words of surviving in the woods amongst the animals rang in his head, and he fought back the urge to attack the Shape, as he knew that would  _ really  _ seal his fate.

 

When Myers took one more step forward, Dwight pushed himself more upright and raised the vase in his hand, ready to fend off his attacker if needed be- but then Myers stumbled, the wound on his leg obviously more severe than appeared to be, and his non- knife wielding hand shot out to catch himself on the sofa, and eventually, using it to help himself to Dwight’s seat, and he could  _ swear  _ he heard the slightest of grunts from the masked man.

 

Watching the man sit down had a small relaxing effect on the cowering man, lowering the vase to more of a clutching level than a throwing level, and sat in his own corner with bated breath.

 

Nobody moved for quite a while, at least until a loud crack of thunder tore through his apartment, the windows rattling loudly following a loud gust of wind howling outside, and the heavy sound of rain pelting his walls.  _ So Hurricane Michael has finally arrived. _

 

_ … _

 

_ Wait- oh my fucking God-! _

 

“Michael!” Dwight shrieked out, the full  _ irony  _ of the situation hitting him square in his thin chest, and he doubled over laughing on himself and the on vase in his lap, the danger of the knife-holding maniac momentarily forgotten.  _ This is insane- I’m insane! I must be insane for this to be happening! _

 

And when he opens his eyes, he expects Myers to be long gone, as well as with the hurricane, figuring he must be dreaming and this is just a wild figment of his fucked up traumatized imagination-

 

But alas- when he opens his eyes, Myers is still there, blood pooling beneath his leg and running down his arm. Dwight stops laughing, a fearful expression taking over his teary face, and summons all of his courage to push himself to his feet, using the entertainment center as his crutch to stand on. It takes another few, deep calming breaths to put together his shattered voice, to steel his legs and lock his knees together to remain upright-  _ what he wouldn’t give to be as brave as David or Jake or Bill right now! _

 

“W-why… are you here?” He wipes his palms on his comfy jeans, still holding the vase in his left  _ just in case  _ Myers tried anything funny- but then he realized that he’s never heard Myers’  _ talk _ , and he’s fairly certain Laurie said that he was mute, anyways, so chances are, he’s not going to get a response from the masked man. Well, he’s got to do  _ something _ , at least. He can’t let him bleed out on his sofa, and then have to dispose of his body,  _ that would be a time and a half to explain. _

 

“You’re hurt.” Dwight states, matter of factly, taking one tiny mouse step towards the wounded murderer with all the precaution he can muster, trying to appear as harmless as possible. “I- I don’t know if you… you know, are immortal or whatever,  _ but  _ you look like you n-ne-need help.” Nothing from the man on the sofa, so Dwight took one more step forward.  _ “I can help you, _ please, don’t attack me.” Dwight’s eyes, which were glued on the massive knife in Myers’ hands, watched as the hand on the handle tightened, like he was about to swing at him, but then relaxed around the handle-

 

Dwight squeaked and jumped when Myers lifted the knife up, but stared in shock when he simply placed it on the small end table next to him, and then turned his expressionless, latex eyes back to stare directly into the ex-survivor eyes, as if silently giving him permission to approach.

 

His footsteps creaking against the hardwood floor, Dwight was amazed at the bravery that he found within himself to get close to the infamous Michael Myers, get within touching distance of the man, and even kneel at his feet to inspect his more grievous wound, which he saw that his hypothesis was correct about it being a part of a metal sheet roof imbedded in his leg, actually poking through the other side of the fleshy thigh, miraculously missing his knee joint by a few inches, or he could’ve had his lower leg severed clear.

 

If he hadn’t been so acclimated to blood and gore on a constant basis, he probably would’ve gagged at the sight. “Jesus, how did you even make it here with that?!” True, Myers must have some hidden supernatural strength still inside of him, courtesy of the Entity, but him managing to sneak inside of his apartment with this kind of injury was  _ impressive _ . “You almost lost your leg- wait here.” Seeing as if he was about to do spotlight surgery,  _ in the near dark,  _ Dwight ran into the kitchen first to grab some dishrags to use to staunch the blood, and then into his bathroom to fetch his first aid kit, complete with stitches and sueters-  _ a combined gift from Claudette and Jake on his first anniversary of escaping. _

 

_ I need to get a hold of myself!  _ Pausing to take a good look at himself in the mirror, Dwight washed off his pale face with clammy hands to give himself a minor internal peptalk.  _ As wild as this is, I need to help Myers because I don’t want a dead guy hanging around on my couch until the hurricane is over.  _ As he watched his chest expand and collapse with each shuddering breath, he felt dread loom over him like a dark cloud that wouldn’t go away at the prospect of one of the Killers that he had died by the hands of  _ far too many times  _ was in his house, was on his sofa, and was staining his floors with his blood, and needed his help. Anxiety and fear threatened to overwash him again, but this time, armed with some emergency chocolate he kept in his pocket, he felt  _ (fingers crossed) _ that he could keep himself together enough to get through this, hopefully in one piece.

 

_ He could hope, at least. _

 

Exiting the bathroom, Dwight hurriedly shuffled back into the small living room with his chosen towels to help with cleaning up the blood, somewhat relieved to see Myers still sitting on the sofa as before, albeit a bit more slumped over than before-  _ must be the bloodloss setting in. _

 

“Here.” Dwight cringes at the cracking of his voice that displays just how  _ afraid  _ he is of the man on his sofa. Carefully kneeling on Myers’ injured side, he softly laid a hand on the Shape’s  _ massive  _ bicep, below the nail lodged into his muscle. “I’m… going to work on t-taking this nail out first. It’ll be eas-easier to deal with.” Once again, Dwight looks up expectantly at the killer, fully expecting an answer until he remembers that Myers doesn’t talk “Oh, right.”

 

His nail-bitten fingers pinch the nail in his arm, trying to gauge how deep it was wedged into his arm when the Killer stiffened, expressionless white mask twisting to look  _ down  _ at him, as if warning him  _ not to fuck up _ , and it sends a cold shiver down his spine that settles in his legs, and weighs him down to his floor.

 

“It’s gonna hurt.” In a vain attempt to warn or perhaps even  _ comfort  _ the mass murderer, Dwight lowly speaks out words of caution before gripping the head of the nail as tightly as he could, chocolate brown eyes flickering up to Myers’ face to see if the man has made any movements, before licking his lips and pulling his arm up, angling it so his elbow and the nail were a straight line.

 

Sucking in a breath and pressing the dishrag he had in his hand over the wound, he used all of his might to pull the nail out in one go, and he’s pleased with himself when he does so but only for a moment as blood squirts out of the wound, landing on his arm and shoulder and in a splatter line onto his floor. Old Survivor instincts kicks into full gear, and he presses down onto the now open wound as hard as he can, trying to staunch the bloodflow, now gushing freely down his arm.

 

Myers had made the tiniest jerk of his arm when he had extracted the nail, but other than that he made no other outward sign of pain or agony as Dwight adeptly wiped up the blood that threatened to flood his house faster than the hurricane whipping his apartment outside.

 

_ Oh, the hurricane! _

 

Recognizing that he had been holding the bloody nail all this time, Dwight turned his head left and right until he decided on setting it down on his coffee table, having to grip it for a few moments to prevent it from rolling off onto the floor, to ultimately free his hand to go for his phone, mentally cursing himself when he saw that he had his phone on silent and that two tornado warnings had already been issued and canceled for his area.  _ So much for staying safe. _

 

Remedying the situation by turning all alarms and alerts on, he places it back on the end table and, after looking at the blood all over his hand and the dishtowel, and determines that he should just tie the rag around Myers’ arm, and he does that in the hopes to stop him from bleeding all over his vinyl couch.  _ He’s done a pretty good job so far,  _ Dwight praises himself- and he hasn’t had another panic attack even though he’s scared shitless!

 

 _But now, onto the major operation-_ sitting back on his haunches, Dwight steeled himself for the more dangerous injury; the metal sheet that was in the serial killer’s leg was nearly an arm’s width in size _(in normal sized people that would surely cut through bone, but lucky for massive Michael here, it seems the femur is intact)_ and clearly poking through the other side of his thigh- at least he didn’t have to worry about fragments of it breaking off inside of the man, a small relief that it was.

 

_ Well, just staring at it isn’t going to make it remove itself.  _ Psyching himself up by thinking that, Dwight wiped both of his bloody hands onto his towels so that they wouldn’t be so slippery with blood and sweat, and used both of his hands to get a firm grasp onto the metal sheet before starting a mental countdown from  _ three,  _ and then used all of the strength in his thin muscles to  _ pull _ .

 

This time, Myers showed  _ obvious signs of pain _ , namely a loud grunt that gave Dwight  _ flashbacks to the many times that he had hit the same man bleeding out on his couch with a wooden pallet that would soon be reduced to simple splinters of wood beneath his feet _ \- shaking his head to dispel another round of depression  _ (and another round of gushing liquid life) _ , he dived wholeheartedly into his task of trying to catch bucketfuls of blood with just a few spare towels-  _ why did he think that a few near rags would be enough? I should have listened to Claudette more about this kind of stuff! _

 

A weak sounding cough from above him  _ -wait, did Myers just cough?-  _ made him look up to the source of the noise, and he was equally parts terrified and relieved when Myers seemed to suddenly slump over, the face of his mask pressed into the corner of the pillows, broad chest shallowly moving up and down with a slowing pace, and one look at the hand laying haphazardly on the arm of the sofa looked nearly gray with how pale and lifeless it was.

 

Putting a slippery hand around Myers’ wrist, Dwight found a faint and fluttering pulse, growing fainter with each soft throb of his veins.  _ Fuck!  _ “Shit-” Suddenly, the thought that Myers could  _ die  _ was looking more and more likely to be happening at any moment, and the bespectacled man found himself in a dilemma: this was  _ Michael Myers _ , a cold blooded serial killer with no remorse and deserves his fate, or… Dwight could let him die and be just the same as a Killer himself. And he knew his conscious wouldn’t let him do that.

 

_ If anything at all,  _ Dwight thinks,  _ I’ll try as hard as I can to save him, and if he dies he dies, but if he lives he can face justice.  _ And Dwight was going to try  _ really fucking hard _ , because he doesn’t want a dead man on his sofa throughout the hurricane, and he doesn’t know if Myers can come back as a ghost and haunt him, but he’d rather not find out.

 

“What do I do, what do I do, what can I do, what do I do-” Throwing the metal sheet out of his way, Fairfield hurriedly tied the towels around the Shape’s wound as tight as he can without cutting off circulation completely, the towels quickly becoming soaking and dripping with dwindling amounts of blood that Myers had left in his body. Leaping to his feet, he paced frantically for a few moments while his mind scrambled to come up with a solution to save the dying man slumped on his couch.

 

_ Too bad the Entity’s psychics don’t apply out here in the re- the needle! _

 

_ When Dwight had escaped _ \- the last and final time he had escaped, running out the evil forest with all of his stamina- he had a anti-hemorrhagic needle stuffed in the medkit he had just happened to have on him, and after debating whether or not he should keep such a  _ cursed  _ artifact from his years in Hell, he had thrown it and the medkit under his bed,  _ in case of an emergency _ , he had told himself,  _ and if there was a time to use it _ , the time was now- and he could finally get rid of it.

 

Dashing back to his bedroom, he dived under the bed, hand frantically slapping the floor for the pack-  _ found it! _ Crying out in victory when his hand clenched around the handle, he yanked it out from underneath the bed and got back onto his feet, darting back into the living room, hoping it wasn’t too late by the time he knelt breathless besides the nearly dead giant and started rolling up his sleeve-

 

A large hand grabbed his own, stopping him from injecting the potentially life-saving serum into his arm, but given how someone like Dwight, as thin and weak as he was, could shake off the hand with little effort, showed just how  _ exhausted _ the killer was. “M-Myers.” Trying to use his best  _ Leader  _ voice he could, Dwight ran his fingers along the crook of the Shape’s elbow, trying to find a good vein to inject in. “Just let me do t-this. It’s either this or bleed out on my couch, and I don’t think you wa-want to die.”  _ He wonders if Myers could even understand what he was talking about _ , but with no further resistance from his patient, Dwight found a good vein, and pressed the cold metal of the needle into Myer’s skin, and pressed down the syringe.

 

The strange pink liquid inside was quick and easy to inject, and it illuminated the vein it entered and skin immediately around with a light pink hue, fading out as Dwight finished injecting him with the solution and it entered his bloodstream and circulated throughout his body. Myers acted like he had been  _ shot _ , falling back onto the sofa completely, body finally relaxing fully and head lolling forwards while his breathing slowed and evened out.

 

Dwight just hoped he hadn’t killed him with the needle which how fast Myers had passed out, reaching out a hand to feel for the man’s heartbeat underneath his overalls:  _ thump...thump...thump. Alive, for now. _ Telling himself that he had done all he was able to do for now, Dwight rose up off his cramped and sore haunches, looking down at his hands,  _ covered in blood that wasn’t new, having been covered in his and his friend’s blood many times over- _ he cradled the hand that had the most blood dripping off of it and held it over his cleaner hand and quickly strided into the kitchen, trying to not track blood all over his apartment.

 

Turning on the faucet with his elbows, he scrubbed and rubbed as hard as he could to get as blood off as he could before going for the soap-  _ he rarely got a chance to actually clean himself in the Entity’s Realm, as most of the blood and dirt  and injuries would vanish after every Trail, except for a couple of ‘slips up’ which ended up collecting into Prestige-  _

 

A loud  _ BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!  _ startled him out of his hygienics.  _ “A TORNADO Warning has been issued for our area… A funnel cloud has been confirmed by eyewitnesses to have touched down on the Island of Galveston, moving northwest at 50 miles per hour… radar indicates that this tornado will go through or pass near the areas of Tiki Island, Bayou Vista, Hitchcock, Santa Fe, Algoa, Hillcrest, and Alvin within the next 30 minutes. Please take cover or shelter now, as this a life-threatening and dangerous situation, as many local Tornado sirens and satellite towers have been destroyed by the storm- _

 

Dwight Fairfield is  _ not _ dragging Michael Myers to the bathtub and throwing his mattress over both of them, so his heart beats a little bit more uncertainty when he realizes that if the tornado does strike his apartment, then he can’t really do anything, since there’s absolutely  _ no way  _ he could move Myers in his state, and he can’t leave him in case he needs… CPR or some more life saving measures.

 

_ I’ll be fine! I mean, I’ve survived worse, right? _ He’s not good at motivating himself in dire situations, but for others, even others such as  _ The Shape _ , he’ll do it. After seeing that his hands were now clean of bodily fluids, he grabbed a paper towel and quickly wiped his hands dry, stepping on the garbage can opener to dispose of his wipe, and then rushing back to his bathroom to grab another towel or two to wipe up the blood he knew was  _ all over  _ the floor, along with a whole new roll of paper towels, turning on the little lanterns he had strategically placed around the house for when the electricity went out and the sun went down to leave his home pitch black.

 

Bundling everything in his arms, Dwight bumped his way down his hallway to find his way back into his living room, guided by the little lightpoints that he set up along the way. Making his way back to the Killer’s side, he laid the towels onto Myers’ lap while he teared the paper towels apart, and made quick work of mopping up the blood pools and splatters all along his floor  _ (amazingly, none of it actually got on the rug or on anything stainable- though he would have to give his couch a good scrubbing later) _ , shortcutting it by just using his foot to push around a wad of paper towels along the floor until it was dropping more blood than it mopped up.

 

The little alarm he had on his phone went off again  _ (he turned down the volume because he didn’t want it to wake up Myers) _ , repeating the Tornado Warning from earlier and stating that the tornado had jumped the Bay and was now land-jumping, the funnel cloud popping on and off of land.  _ Maybe it’ll miss me,  _ Dwight sighed, and looked to his door…

 

He’s gonna look outside. Just for a moment.

 

Gathering up the bloody paper towels and disposing of them, he washed his hands again to make sure there was no more of that  _ sticky  _ crimson on him, and then walked to his front door-  _ this was a terrible idea, but so was housing Michael Myers-  _ unlocked the chain and the lock, and pulled his front door back, expecting to look out his screen door- only to be hit by a wall of wind, staggering backwards and nearly losing his grip on his front door.

 

“Where the hell is my screen door?!” Swaying in the wind, Dwight latches onto the doorknob and slams the door shut, leaning up against the wooden door to catch his breath that was  _ sucked  _ away from him, just like his screen door probably was, Dwight concluded.  _ Well, it’s probably long gone now, no use crying over spilt milk. _ He hadn’t been able to fully looka round and survey the damage, but he could see enough to see that his street was flooded  _ (thank goodness his apartments were built a couple feet up above ground), _ and all sorts of debris and foliage  _ rushing  _ down what used to be the street- he couldn’t even see the neighbors and shops across the street because the wind was blowing the rain so hard sideways.

 

God, he was so tired, and standing up proved just how  _ draining _ it could be to save a monster like Myers and himself from almost being  _ sucked out his own front door- _ suddenly, his couch with an apathetic serial killer looked a lot more inviting to his exhausted mind. Tiredly walking to his phone, he pressed it on to see that the Warning was still in effect, and that he had just a little over ¾ of charge left on his phone at nearly midnight. It shocked him to see it that late, not thinking that it could have  _ possibly  _ taken that long to tend to Myers,  _ but didn’t he take a nap as well? _ \- whatever, he was about to take another one, right after he removed his soiled clothes, slipping off his t-shirt and bloody sweatpants, debating internally whether or not he could salvage them before just tossing them into the garbage can.

 

In his undershirt and boxers, Dwight trudged back to the sofa, too tired to  _ really _ care about indecency in his state of dress, and simply gathered the towels that he had laid on Myers’ lap, and curled up on the opposite side of the sofa, finding his eyes nearly impossible to keep open as his head hit the pillow he had snatched and shoved underneath his head, and didn’t refuse the call to sleep, reminiscent of the call of the Fog right before he was summoned to a Trial…

 

_ This is a dream,  _ Dwight subconsciously thought _ , as he was imaging himself floating somewhere in a Void, nothing to hold onto or to anchor himself onto, as a large and warm splotch spread across his calves, not moving but it didn’t have to as Dwight’s slightly cold body melted into the sensation, especially as it moved upwards to his thighs, staying put when fingers reached midway. The fingers rub circles into his inner thighs, and he hears the voice of David King in his ears, whispering sweet nothings to him while another hand finds its way underneath his undershirt all the way around, fingers teasing the waistline of his boxers, helping to warm his chilly skin with budding arousal caused by calloused fingertips. _

 

_ He tires to turn his head back to see David behind him, but his body is sluggish and ‘laggy’, as Feng Min once said, and he can’t quite do it on his own, but luckily, whoever is behind him helps him out by grabbing the back of his hair and twisting him around- ow ow ow OW OW HEY QUIT IT!- _

 

Jolting awake with a choked gasp, Fairfield struggles to discern between the remnants of his pleasurable dream and the hand pulling his hair painfully, but it’s soon made clear when his ears are assaulted with heavy breathing obscured by something rubber-scented.

 

“Myers!” Even though he can’t fully turn around and see who has a hold of his hair, he can  _ hear _ the tell-tale breathing behind him, the one that could only belong to the Boogeyman himself- suddenly, he’s flipped, and he’s met face-to-mask with the Killer himself, and Dwight starts panicking because  _ does Myers not remember what happened? Is he about to he tortured and murdered for real this time? Is that why he’s here?  _ The glinting metal of the knife reflects off the lantern lights, the only source of light in the darkness  _ (which are pretty damn bright; they nearly light up the room like daylight) _ , and it’s pointed directly at his throat. “M-m-my-Myers!” Gasping and choking on his own fear and trauma, Dwight grabs onto the sofa underneath him like a lifeline, knowing that what he said next meant the difference between life and death:  _ his life and death. _

 

“I-I saved you! Remember, th-the hurricane? It- it hurt you and you-you snuck in or something-” The knife presses tighter against his windpipe, but Myers’ head tilts to the side, a signal that he was  _ listening to him _ . Forcing confidence and bravery, Dwight continued. “I used a s-syringe I had from the Entity’s Realm, I had to, you were bl-bleeding out so bad  _ please don’t kill me~” _ Whining in complete fear of his  _ life _ , he curled up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his knees and drawing them up close to his body- but not for long as the Shape pushed his legs back down, and tilted his gaze downward, looking at his lap for some  _ unknown reas- oh, fiddlesticks! Really!?! _

 

Apparently, Dream-David was more  _ affecting  _ than Dwight was aware of, because he was sporting a fully fledged erection/fear boner, and Myers was eyeing it like it was a premium chicken tender that had been a bogo with a fast food deal. It made him wonder if Myers had ever seen one before, and he was just  _ curious,  _ or trying to figure out why Dwight’s dick was so welcoming in this situation. “It’s not because of you! Quit staring.” Embarrassment flooding his cheeks, he was glad at least his pale chicken legs and torso were covered with the towels he had brought in.

 

Michael didn’t quit staring, in fact, he tilted his head to the other side and stared  _ more _ , making Dwight feel as if he was a frog back in highschool about to be dissected. It wasn’t the  _ best  _ of feelings, but…  _ he wasn’t a full virgin, getting a bit of wiggle room back in the Fog to experiment a little bit, but he’s never had real sex before.  _ As much as he hated to admit it, Myers staring at his crotch like it was a full bucket of butter-glazed popcorn, it didn’t exactly help to  _ wane  _ the problem.

 

Especially when Myers’ knife backed away from his throat, only to slowly lower itself to Dwight’s waistline, the tip of the knife pointed directly above the base of his erection, resting precariously against the sensitive area. Muscles locking up, the ex-survivor fought to breathe as the knife drew _dangerously_ _close_ to parts he’d rather want untouched- “H-hey! W-wh-what are you-?” His protest died off as the tip of the knife twisted in the fabric of his boxers, the cold kiss of the metal tearing through a small hole in front, and once it had wormed its way in far enough, Myers dragged the knife down, _slicing through his underwear like butter._ Chest constricting, Dwight watched as his cock bobbed free, released from its confines and left to throb hotly in the slight chill fo the air. The knife retreated, going to lay by Myers’ side.

 

The hand still in his hair had turned to awkward and heavy tugging and petting of his brown locks, while the now knifeless hand immediately went to grab at his cock just as awkwardly, gripping it tightly in his grasp… and  _ not _ moving. 

 

Dwight’s head was spinning, from both unexpected arousal and fear-  _ does he let Myers continue?  _ He shouldn’t! He was a serial killer for God’s sake, he’s personally been killed by the monster thousands of times before, and the same fate had befallen his friends. Dwight knew he wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to like Myers’ hand around his dick like it was a thick salami; he wasn’t even jerking him off or moving, but it’s been  _ so long  _ since someone has touched him even  _ remotely  _ close to how Myers was touching him right now, and his brain, still muddled with sleep and panic, thought that the whole situation was  _ a fairly decent idea. _

 

“You don’t- why?” He asked breathlessly, but the question might as well as have been rhetoric because of course he didn’t get any sort of verbal response. The bespectacled man looked up and met the empty eyes of the mask, and he swallowed his pride, cautiously and unsurely lifting his arm up to place his hand over Myers’, over his erection. “If-if you  _ want to-  _ but I’m not much of-of a prize, heh- the grip is a little- little  _ tight _ .” Dwight tries to worm his shaking and clammy fingers inbetween the larger ones around him, and to his great surprise, Myers reduces his grip on his own to a more  _ pleasing  _ one. 

 

He sighed at the relaxing of pressure, finding it much more  _ nicer  _ than before. “Yeah, like tha-at.” He stutters out before slapping a hand over his mouth at how  _ lewd  _ he sounded, regathering himself by swallowing the pool of saliva in his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but- but if you’re trying to pl-please me, or maybe pay me back, o-or something, you need to move your hand.”  _ Am I going to have to teach him how to get me off?  _ That went from being a joking statement to being a upcoming reality as Myers’ hand  _ still did not move. _

 

Myers had a big, warm, calloused hand that felt very nice around him, but it just being there wasn’t going to make him any hotter. Finalizing that he was going to have to intervene, he tightened his hand around Michael’s, dragging the larger hand up and down his shaft-  _ God, Myers’ hand completely dwarfed his erection.  _ “You gotta stroke it… up and down  _ ahh~ _ like this.” Dwight stared straight down at the movements going on in his lap, nowhere near brave enough to look back up into the Shape’s mask. Breathing picking up as he pseudo-stroked himself, the leader repeated the motions himself a few more times before experimentally letting go, leaning back to see if the Boogeyman would follow his motions now that he had stopped.

 

He didn’t… at first. But then, Dwight had that overbearing sensation of  _ being watched  _ comes back, and Myers’ hand starts moving, albeit very,  _ very slowly,  _ with a tilt to neck like he was,  _ oddly enough,  _ trying to mimic something. Dwight doesn’t know just how  _ human  _ Michael Myers was, but he must’ve masturbated at  _ some _ point, even in a mental hospital. He doesn’t know if Myers is being slow and teasing on  _ purpose _ , but the snail’s pace makes his toes flex with a gasp and his hands curl into fists.

 

“Th-hat’s good!” Praise, breathless and encouraging, whistles past his lips as he’s stroked, and he allows himself a few moments to close his eyes and to revel in the sparks traveling up and down his spine like needle points. ‘But… can you go a little bit faster, please?” 

 

And, to his benefit, Myers did. It felt nearly instantly a whole lot better, and Dwight would’ve mentally declared that this was the best  _ (and pretty much only)  _ sexual experience he had had in his lifetime, expect for the fact that Michael’s hand was acting like a tunnel: inflexible and a hard tunnel for trains to go through. His hand was stiff, almost put-offingly so, but  _ beggars can’t be choosers,  _ Dwight told himself-  _ and besides, it does feel really nice. _

 

The tiniest moan escapes him as Myers speeds up, and Dwight puts his whole focus into the sensations and not the  _ ‘being watched’  _ sensation crawling up his neck, nor did he let the knowledge of who was giving him a handjob halt his enjoyment-  _ in fact, he could simply imagine it as a more desirable outcome of his wet dream, that it was David currently stroking him, making his stomach tense up and his thighs flex. David, between his legs and hot breath and scratchy beard against his thigh, with rough but gentle kisses along his hips and thighs while his hand twisted pleasantly and made his mind a puddle, nothing but a vessel for ecstasy- _

 

Suddenly, his imagination is broken as he’s flipped to his stomach, large hands gripping him by his love handles and pulling his hips up in the air just enough for his knees to bend-  _ wait, what was he doing?  _ His unspoken question was answered when he heard slow zipping behind him, a hand coming around to squeeze his ass cheeks.

 

The knowledge of what Myers is getting at  _ rushes  _ to the forefront of his mind, and he tenses, entire body going as stiff as a board as his thoughts raced-  _ does he want sex? Does he even know what sex is!? I’m not ready for  _ **_that_ ** _ yet, God, as much as I like what he was doing and as horrible as that sounds- _

 

Dwight didn’t realize that his seizing of his muscles had actually been noticed by Myers, and that the killer had stopped as well in response until he had calmed himself down enough from his mild panic attack over the topic of his virginity. Turning his head around to see  _ just why  _ Myers stopped behind him, he was met with two sights that he’s sure he’ll never forget: dark holes boring into his skull, and the  _ absolutely massive  _ cock that was now protruding from the stark white  _ (standard mental hospital issued, he assumed)  _ boxers that hung low on his strong hips, leading off from  _ beautifully  _ toned abs and chest-

 

Something wet dripped onto his shoulder, and Dwight registered that he had been  _ drooling _ at the behemoth of the man behind him.  _ Wow, Dwight, reel it in there, your gay is showing. _

 

“I- I don-don’t want to have s-sex!” He declared,trying to draw himself into a ball but finding it impossible to due to Myers gripping his ass like a basketball. “I don’t ev-even know if you know what-what sex  _ is _ , but, uhhhh…” The bespectacled man  _ wiggled  _ his hips for a reason he couldn’t pick out from lust or fear. “N-No penis is my butt,  _ please _ ?”  _ That wasn’t supposed to be a question, you fool-! _

 

Nervousness filing his chest, Dwight lost his nerve to speak, eyes flickering between the white latex mask sticking out from the semi dark like a lighthouse beacon and the large member that was hovering like half a foot above his raised backside, unconsciously darting his tongue out to lick his lips while he watched Myers tilt his head back and forth, as if trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. This went on for several moments, the masked man behind him looking at him from all angles and making him feel all too  _ exposed, like how after so much stalking, him and his unfortunate company for the evening would be a one-hit down- _

 

His hips are suddenly tugged upwards again, this time his knees having to bend to keep himself upright, and something  _ hot and hard _ landed and rested comfortably inbetween his ass cheeks: he could feel every hot-blooded thrum of Myers’ dick laying against his most intimate parts, parts that even he himself didn’t touch of think about pleasurable all too often-  _ and now he was being used like a hot dog warmer!  _ He thought about opening his mouth, about complaining about being treated as a meat sleeve for a serial killer’s enjoyment, until he started thrusting, somewhat softly but with force enough for Dwight, even as  _ whooshed _ as he was, got the idea.

 

Myers wanted to fuck his ass, and Dwight had said no sex, but he didn’t say he couldn’t  _ fuck his literal ass. Ah well _ , he should’ve been more specific, shouldn’t he?  _ Not that he was unhappy with this decision,  _ on the contrary, it feels  _ wonderful _ and the ex-survivor has really no complaints to air. Calloused hands gripping and pulling at his rear, Dwight gasped as he felt the slight chill in the air tickle his parts exposed, his cock rubbing against the vinyl of the couch with every thrust the Shape shook him with, soon increasing in intensity as Dwight gasped and moaned and did not protest any further.

 

The material of the furniture creaking with every jarring motion, Myers proved to have  _ unlimited  _ stamina  _ (he must have some of that ‘unstoppable killer’ juice still within him) _ as he had no need to stop to readjust himself or to give his body a rest or to change position. Since there was no  _ actual  _ penetration involved in this sex act, Dwight couldn’t get any direct stimulation from it that would bring him any closer to the edge, but at least he had his hands free to jerk himself off with, which he began doing nearly immediately after he had gained his wits about him, trying to both end this still awkward situation as soon as he could but to also have a good time with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience something  _ like  _ this and  _ probably not die  _ afterwards.

 

“Ahhh~ ah, ah, ah fuck!” His glasses basically knocked off the bridge of his nose and sliding off the sofa, one hand furiously moving up and down his cock as the other one was pressed against the arm of the sofa to stop himself from being fucked off the couch, he felt as if he was being suffocated with the pleasure he was giving himself, and the  _ knowledge  _ that the giant monster behind him had  _ control over him, could really do anything he wanted with him, and how big he was, his cock fit shapely into the entire crack of his ass…-he wondered if David would be anywhere as thick, as big, as wide, oh, he’d be far gentler and more verbose as Myers was, leaving gentle kisses and lingering touches all over his body and skin, eagerly marking him as his,  _ **_all his…_ **

 

_ David would be so much more passionate, trailing patterns over his pale scars, fucking him gently and looking into his eyes with all the love he could muster while taking him, thrusts starting off slow but quickly gaining speed as David’s self- control slowly dwindled away, leaving behind the bear of the man he had come to know and love through all of their suffering, and Dwight would cling to him and whisper to his through borrowed oxygen about how much he loves him, loves what he’s doing, how it’s too much and not enough; it’s good, so good that he can’t take it much more and oh God, he’s so close already with, not his own, but David’s hand around his cock, swiftly stoking his pleasure higher and higher turning Dwight into a writhing mess of limbs and gasps, repeating David’s name like a mantra as he felt himself approach the edge-  _

 

_ “David, David, David, oh God I’m gonna cum, David, ah ah ah hnnnmg oh fuck, David~!” _

 

Back bowing, Dwight’s body violently spasmed as his hips rhythmically jerked forward, cum shooting forth from his cock’s red tip and staining the light brown sofa an off-white color of his semen, several varying ropes of come painting the seat beneath him before his diaphragm had relaxed enough for Dwight to suck in a shaky breath laced with a soft moan- but the opportunity to relax was  _ offset _ when he had managed to completely forget about in those last few minutes suddenly  _ stopped _ , pulling Dwight flush against those massive muscular hips, and he felt thick and heavy splatters of cum all over his back and ass.

 

Knees and legs giving out, Dwight was solely suspended by the crushing hands of the Shape on his hips coating him in his spend, and  _ it felt like it went on forever, _ long enough for Dwight’s head to clear of his post-orgasm haze, and to think about  _ all that mess that their making _ .

 

Eventually, thankfully, Myers seems to have completely emptied himself onto Fairfield’s back, and takes back his seat on the side of the couch where he had passed out in, bloody and dying, letting go of Dwight and leaving him to his own devices, namely, to lie in a puddle of his and Myers’ jizz.

 

“Fuck…” Dwight wasn’t one to swear all that much, but he did when he saw the amount of come on his couch and back, a hot mix of excitement and shame washing over him.  _ All that had just happened, with Myers while he was jacking off to a fantasy of David _ , but then again, it was one of the best experiences of his life-  _ pathetic, really. _

 

Seeing that Myers was finished and any sort of conversation afterwards was  _ not  _ going to happen, the pale man patted the couch for his glasses, finding them rolled away into a crevice of a seat, and smashed them back onto his face, gathering the towles draped around his body and his shredded boxers while shakily getting to his feet, and quickly ambled into his bathroom again, taking one look back and still seeing Michael with his dick out.

 

Chilly and sticky, Dwight shut the door behind him, making sure it was locked properly behind him before letting out a huge exhale, raking a hand over his hair while his mind was trying to catch up with everything that was going on, and trying to separate the fact that  _ someone that had given his so much trauma had given him pleasure such as that. _ If he hadn’t been through the whole “reality doesn’t make sense” debacle when he first was entrapped in the Fog, he might’ve had a nervous breakdown in the corner of his own bathroom.

 

_ That was crazy _ , Dwight thought, and promptly broke into laughter, holding his stomach as he fell into a fit of giggles, placing a hand on the rim of the sink so he didn’t fall over or slip onto the floor with cum running down his legs.  _ Jesus, he was a mess, a literal one! _

 

Gaining control of himself after a few, sobering breaths, he reached for the lantern he had on the counter, and turned it on full blast, illuminating the room in bright, LED lighting, making Dwight feel a bit more secure in his environment. After a moment’s debate, he decided to hop in the shower, peeling off his soaked and sticky undershirt and shredded boxers, and tossing them into the trashcan as soon as they were off his body-  _ dried cum does not help exfoliate your skin. _

 

…

 

“What were you doing out there, Myers? I mean, o-other than stalking?” Freshly out of the shower with a cup of ginger ale in his hand, he tucked the blanket around his much cleaner self and pajamas, looking at Myers like he actually expected him to respond to him before remembering that, in fact, Myers would not be responding to him.  _ At least he had the common courtesy to turn and face him, tilting his head as usual to show he was listening. _

 

Maybe he should ask a different question. Clearing his throat, he asked “Why are you here? In Texas? It’s a long ways from Illinois.”

 

At first, it seemed as if Myers would continue to stare, but he actually  _ nodded _ , and then shrugged his shoulders in a clear  _ ‘I don’t know’ _ .

 

At least he’s getting somewhere with him. “How long have you been out… yo-you know, of where we used to be?” Another pause, and then Myers held up both hands, fingers splayed out and palms stretched.

 

“Ten?” Dwight question, before elaborating. “Ten...days? Months?-” Stopping when he saw the Boogeyman nod at months, followed by another shrug, which Dwight assumed meant that he didn’t know, but was guessing.  _ Honestly, he was guessing himself most days. _ “Do you… are you going somewhere?” Myers nodded  _ twice. _ “H-H-Haddonfield?”  _ Two more nods- better let Laurie know. _ “I don’t think that Laurie would be there, Myers- hon-honestly, I haven’t heard from her. Rem-remember, it was 1978 when you did…  _ all that _ , and it’s 2020 now.”

 

He nearly broke into laughter at the vibe he got from Myers; a  _ do you really think you can convince me otherwise?  _ Look, and Dwight sighed, letting his head hang for a few moments before twisting his cup in his hand and taking a swig from it. “Any-anyways, how long have you been  _ here _ ? In-in Santa Fe?” Looking at his table to place his half-empty cup down, he looked up to see Myers holding up a solitary finger. “One month?” A shake of the head  _ no  _ forces Dwight to rethink. “One week?”  _ Ah, that’s the ticket. _ “Oh, boy, you, uhhh… you picked the wrong week to come here, that’s for sure, right when a major hurricane is coming through.”  _ Not to mention its name is Michael, as well. _

 

“You probably don’t know what a hurricane is, do you?”  _ No. _ “Well, understandable, s-since I don’t think Illinois exactly is in a hurricane-prone area, haha.”  _ Why are you laughing, you idiot?  _ Rubbing the back of his neck as his spontaneous laughter died out, he shifted in his seat before standing up and going for his phone, laying right next to the obscenely large butcher knife on his end table. In his peripheral vision, he saw Myers tense up when he reached, assuming that Dwight was going for his trademark weapon. Stopping immediately, Dwight backtracked a few steps and held his hands up in innocence. “I’m just-just getting my phone! I need to ch-check the weather.” Reaching for the device, his hand passed Michael’s stabbing range without incident, and pressed the ‘ON’ button, the time displaying nearly four in the morning, with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I didn’t turn this on silent…”  _ Did he?  _ Inspecting the phone by turning it over and over in his hands, he saw that nothing was broken, nothing was out of place; he turned on the volume and heard that it was working properly, and that there were tens of Tornado Warnings, Flash Flood Warnings, Emergency Flood Warnings, and currently, a High Wind Warning in effect as, the report put it:  _ “The eyewall of Hurricane Michael is expected to make landfall within the next half-hour, and areas within this Warning Area will experience sustained winds of 145 mph with gusts in excess of 175 mph. This wind will persist for a couple of hours afterwards as the backside of the eyewall passes over land-” _

 

_ SMASH! _ Well, there’s those winds- something had smashed against the brick of his apartment outside, making the entire house vibrate. In addition to Dwight screeching in fear and shock, Myers jumped up from his seta on the sofa, albeit a bit unsteadily, and immediately staggered to the front door, showing all his intentions on opening it, even when Dwight reached out to stop him. He threw open the door open, nearly ripping it off the hinges with the force of the wind that blew threw, nearly knocking Dwight off his feet.

 

The Shape appeared stunned for a few moments by the force of the winds, but went outside anyways, slowing looking left and right for the source of the bang until he disappeared around the corner of the door, and while shielding his eyes, Dwight saw two things: the water not three feet from his door, and Myers pushing a small, hybrid-looking car back into the river that was his street, the once brightly green colored vehicle now stained brick-colored, the same color of his bricks.

 

“Myers!” He yelled, though he doubts he was heard over the roaring of the wind. Pushing himself up and to the doorframe, dwight grips the blanket around him that threatened to get sucked right off his body. “MICHAEL! COME BACK IN HERE!”  _ Quit playing in the street! _

 

Nearly waist-deep in water, Myers turned back to see the screaming man frantically waving him back inside, and much to Dwight’s relief, Myers seemed to comply, letting go of the car and limping back to his apartment,  _ not even bothering to shake the water off himself of wipe his feet. _ “You-you…”  _ What does he chide him about: playing in the street or PUSHING an entire CAR off my building!? _

 

_ But why would I be scolding him? He did… kinda save my apartment building.  _ “...Thanks?” But, in typical Myers fashion, he said nothing, but gave him a single head nod and went to sit back on the sofa until Dwight grabbed a hold of him and stopped him, directing his dripping blue frame into the kitchen for him to sit at the table while he dried off.

 

_ A couple more hours of this? Entity, can I come back? _

 

…

 

Myers, effectively, proved to be much more beneficial to Dwight than he could’ve imagined: even though his injures had healed considerably but he was still bleeding intermittently, he would continuously  _ go back outside  _ whenever a loud noise was heard or when the house vibrated, removing or pushing whatever it was that had hit the apartment with superhuman ease. And when the water came up to his door frame, a few tiny pushes of water seeping in under the door, Myers went out  _ into the street, and dived underwater, much to Dwight’s panic, and unclogged the street drain enough for the water to recede back at least a foot.  _ A foot may not seem like much, but when it’s the difference between being in his home or not, it’s suddenly very  _ important _ .

 

Dwight, all the recent events overwhelming him, ended up passing out on the sofa again as soon as most of the danger had passed by the time the sun had just started to poke through the clouds and stream into his windows, and woke up at what his phone said, was 12:30 in the afternoon, even though it looked more like early morning out. 

 

Oddly enough, one of his first thoughts was to call David, or maybe Jake or Meg or even Claudette, but he, as expected, didn’t have a single bar of service, and no internet reception, only still receiving emergency updates from his local weather station- which had all stopped at five in the morning.  _ The tower must’ve went down,  _ Dwight assumed.

 

Stretching his cramped legs and spine muscles, Dwight stood up and stretched, breathing a sigh of relaxation at the strange peacefulness in the house because  _ where was Myers? _ It shouldn’t feel  _ that  _ peaceful with Myers around.

 

He soon found out why when he went to fetch his glasses on the coffee table, and saw a couple of large and crude but well- oriented drawings that looked relatively childlike in appearance. Dwight, seeing the drawings, became very confused as to what they were doing there until he picked one up and looked at it.

 

The one he had picked up was one of, a person who he assumed to be Myers, in a little kayak or boat, and rowing down the street, away from his apartment, which he could see himself in. On the top of the sheet, there was “GOODBYE”, written in large, black letters, with an arrow point off sheet, and the word “HADDONFIELD” written above the arrow.

 

The other one on the table was a bit more compact, as if Myers had drew a little comic: there was a scene where he was fighting people dressed in black that looked to be  _ outside his apartment,  _ with him still asleep inside. Next block was him  _ pushing a car up against his door to apparently stop rising flood waters from entering _ , and another block was him burning all the bloody towels he had used to save his life outside in a makeshift fire pit. The final block was a bit harder to decipher, but it looked like Myers had a bunch of bags and had shoved them through an open window, because of what looked like a  _ car was blocking his fucking door. _

 

Dwight could help but shake the sheet and say “What!?!” every few seconds of reading it. But, what surprised him the most was the words written at the bottom of the second sheet.

 

“THANK YOU. I WILL NOT FORGET. I WILL RETURN AFTER HADDONFIELD.”

 

Gluping, he looked up to see that the window he had drawn pushing things through was shut, but the curtains were a bit misconstrued, and on his table where random food and water stuffs-  _ did Myers go looting? Where would he eve- _

 

_ Actually,  _ Dwight thought, looking through the bags and pulling out a bag of chips, ripping them open and beginning to snack on them and  _ giving the fuck up on life and PTSD _ \-  _ I’ll question it when he returns. Eventually. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to tell the entire town of Haddonfield that Michael Myers is dropping by. _

 

_ … _

 

_ And where the Hell are his cats!? _


End file.
